


Kink Prompt Fills: Warcraft

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Training, Begging, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Gags, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Overstimulation, Oviposition, Spitroasting, kink prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 03:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Various kink prompt fills for my friends on Twitter!





	1. Begging (Saurfang/Anduin)

The first time they talked, Anduin’s heart felt cold in his chest. With an orc mere inches from his body, he couldn’t help but remember, and remembering —that cell in Pandaria, the smallness of his wrist caught between the bars in a hand that could have snapped him in two—left him weak in the knees. He shook and staggered when he rose to leave. He silently prayed his foe hadn’t noticed his fingers clinging to the door to steady his uneven steps. 

The second time he bit his lip and swallowed when the orc got too close. Fear surged through his veins, but in its wake flooded something else: a tremble, a quiver that rose with a blush to his cheeks. This time he suspected Saurfang knew but thanked the Light he didn’t mention it. The heat of his body and the way his braids swayed when he spat and stomped back to his bed was about all the king could handle.

The third time they met he touched him. He hadn’t meant to do it, but when Saurfang rushed forward and pinned him against the wall he didn’t know how else to respond. Extending his arm, he brushed his fingers against a scar on the orc’s bare shoulder. As soon as his palm made contact, however, he was pushed back, shoulders knocking against stone and breath catching in his throat. Now it was clear the High Overlord knew what he wanted, and the weight of his refusal lingered in the dark space between them. 

But Anduin persisted. He knew now where he wanted this to go and refused to look down when the orc’s gaze found his in the shadows. 

The fourth time Anduin arrived without armor. Discarding his cloak on the floor by the door, he approached with steps now steady and purposeful. Taking a seat on the bed beside him, he watched the orc’s face, watched his lower lip purse around his tusks as he undid his hair and let it swing free onto his shoulders. 

There was understanding there, but there was also…hesitation? Trepidation, even, when he pressed calloused fingers against the king’s jaw. He waited. Anduin licked his lips and swallowed, and then finally, softly, and without the shame that should have come for a king at the mercy of his enemy, he whimpered a desperate “please.”


	2. Overstimulation (Wrathion/Anduin)

Anduin heard a buzz and lifted his head, the sound shaking him from what had promised to be post-orgasm contentment. Beside him Wrathion rose up onto his knees, just as he had done moments before to ease himself off the king’s cock, but this time he had something—a familiar gold, goblin-built something—clutched between his long claws. 

Anduin’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to ask, dismayed, if Wrathion hadn’t gotten enough from him, but any attempt to speak died with a cry when the dragon leaned down and pressed the device against his own softening cock. 

“Wha—” He all but squeaked. The pulsation trembled across his skin, every nerve sparking to life. Arching his back, he sighed. His eyes squeezed closed, and he had to fight through his next breath, unsure if he wanted to use it to beg for a second release or reprieve from the overwhelming sensation. 

But he didn’t get the chance to decide. Wrathion chuckled and swung his leg back over Anduin’s thigh, using his weight to keep him pinned down. “What was that, my dear?” He teased, and if Anduin hadn’t been so overcome with vibrations he might have blushed at the sound. “It isn’t too much for you, is it? You’re starting to look a bit pained.” 

It wasn’t a genuine question, no, not with the way Wrathion laughed when he said it, but Anduin needed to treat it as one. He fought to find his voice, but just as he tried lifting his shoulders Wrathion traced the vibrator along his still-wet head. Shock and pain and white-hot pleasure crashed over him like a wave. His hands clung to the sheets and somewhere behind Wrathion his heels struggled to find purchase on the mattress. 

“Oh, my poor king,” Wrathion leaned down and murmured against his ear, now cupping the vibrator to his cock. Every hum pounded in Anduin’s ears; every breath shook in the space between them. Somewhere between gone and alive he felt everything: every tremor and pulse, every bead of sweat and his own cum still leaking out of the dragon and dripping onto his thigh.


	3. Spitroasting (Baine/Anduin/Wrathion)

It was hard for Baine not to blush with his friend bent over on the bed in front of him. Not knowing where else to look, his eyes moved from the human’s face to his hair pulled out of place by the dragon they called the Black Prince. The king clung to the sheets and moaned. Wrathion tightened his clawed grip on his hips and rocked forward, the latches that held his extra appendage in place clicking together when they knocked against Anduin’s thighs. 

The High Chieftain swallowed. Red eyes met his above his friend’s body, and suddenly looking down at Anduin’s face didn’t seem quite as embarrassing as facing down his boyfriend. 

“Well?” Wrathion arched his brow, his slit pupils narrowing to study him. He didn’t miss a beat with his thrusts, just gripping and pushing Anduin down into the mattress. Baine quivered, realizing just how many times they must have practiced this for Wrathion to be so mindlessly skilled. He had to scramble to banish the thought, however. That realization would only lead to imagining, and imagining might lead to losing his nerve. He nodded, if only to avoid Wrathion’s smirk, and reached a furry paw to caress the side of Anduin’s cheek. 

The soft contact drew a sigh from Anduin’s lips. Carefully, Baine approached, not stopping until the top of his thighs hit the edge of the royal bed. The dragon finally slowed, letting Anduin rise from his elbows to his hands and shift his weight to one side to reach forward. His palm with the first to make contact with the tauren’s unsheathed cock, but his lips were soon to follow, kissing the underside, and then wrapping, stretching around the flared head. Baine shuddered. His paw hit the back of his messy blond head, and this time when Wrathion rocked forward Baine didn’t even mind the smirking look in his eyes.


	4. Gags (Flynn/Shaw)

“Fuck—” Shaw hissed under his breath, and for a moment it was enough to enjoy the other man’s tightness around him. That was, of course, until the pirate opened his mouth. 

“What was that, Shaw?” He teased and attempted to lift his head. “Do you kiss your mother with those lips?” 

With that, the Spymaster felt an irritating heat rise up the back of his neck.

Even with Flynn Fairwind bent over, legs spread, and face shoved into the captain’s table, he still managed to have something to say. Whether it was tales of his time at the Curious Octopus or praise for Taelia Fordragon’s biceps, it was always unwanted, inappropriate, _annoying._ It stirred up something in the pit of Shaw’s chest, and though he tugged at his hair and thrust to the base of his cock, it always felt like Flynn, not Shaw, had the upper hand.

And he _hated_ it. “That’s enough,” he growled and tangled his fingers in the pirate’s auburn ponytail. Bearing down until his hips pressed against his backside, he waited for Flynn to nod, then started to find his rhythm. Thankfully the next time Flynn spoke it was to let out a moan.

He gripped either side of his hips and filled him again, watching the desk shake under their collective weight. The compass quivered, its needle trembling away towards the east, and the last bit of whiskey rippled in the bottom of his glass. Flynn Fairwind tightened. He sighed and pushed his pants down his thighs to gain access to his cock. 

But when his fingers encircled him, he didn’t earn the groan or praise he had expected. Instead the pirate laughed and pointed out, almost conversationally, “You know, I never thought you would have such soft hands. Staying away from the dirty work, are you?”

That was it. All at once, the Spymaster released his grip and grabbed, instead, at his hair. He yanked him back, and then, with a thrust hard enough to slosh his whiskey from its glass, he bore down on him. His hand moved from his hair to his throat, and then to a square of cloth beside his spyglass. He wadded it in his fist and then shoved it between the pirate’s lips, using the shock of the moment to jam it into place. 

Flynn huffed, but didn’t spit or push back. Instead, something in his stance seemed to change. Slumping forward, he groaned—a low, muffled sound that Shaw felt more than he heard—and then finally, thankfully, he yielded.


	5. Anal Training (Thrall/Grom)

Thrall knew he was supposed to be the one in charge of their meeting, and yet whenever Grom’s red eyes strayed in his direction he felt utterly and entirely humbled. 

And that, he expected, had been the other orc’s intentions when he came to Thrall’s quarters early that morning with a metal plug clenched in his fist. He had claimed it was to teach his body to accept him, to prepare him after a few failed—and painfully awkward—attempts. But when their shoulders brushed and Grom cast him a toothy grin, Thrall knew his pleasure was twofold. 

The Warchief blushed. He tried to straighten his back, but the slight shift of weight pressed the plug into his inner wall and stole any semblance of dignity he had left from his face. His cock twitched, and his hand, poised to move a piece on the war table, just lingered, forgotten, in the air. 

The next thing he knew, Cairne shook his braids and reached out to move it instead. “As our Warchief was saying,” he offered, innocent of the situation but still prepared to help, “We should anticipate the Legion’s approach from the south, but we should not leave the east unguarded.” 

A weak nod was all he could manage. Luckily, the two Darkspear watchers remained unfazed, eyes focused, instead, on the map spread out before them. 

But no matter how many times Thrall breathed in or how many prayers he directed down towards the earth for stability, he couldn’t ignore the ache of his cock against his codpiece, the fullness of Grom Hellscream’s plug, or the promise of what it would bring. 

When the meeting concluded he lingered and explained to the High Chieftain that he and Grom had an additional matter to discuss. Once he and Grom were alone he finally let down his guard, let heat overcome his cheeks, let his hand wander to the front of his armor and clumsily toy with the latches. 

Much to his surprise, however, Grom just smirked and shook his head. “Look who’s feeling eager,” he pointed out, and then dropped his hand to Thrall’s ass. The Warchief tried to step closer, but in his embarrassment he found his knees locked in place.

“You couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”

All the teasing would have been worth it if Grom had bent him over and removed the plug, finally claiming him like Thrall so desperately wanted. He could have hidden his hot face against the table and submitted, hands clawing at wood and tusks scratching the map spread in front of them. But it was clear the warlord wanted to savor this control, the secret knowledge of what Thrall had inside him and what it spelled for their future.

With uncharacteristic patience, he gave Thrall’s ass a squeeze, making sure to nudge his finger against the plug’s flared end. When he withdrew, it was to laugh and stare as Thrall fought to catch his breath.


	6. Hate Sex (Stellagosa/Valtrois)

Valtrois knew why she had asked the blue dragon to come, but the cool look on Stellagosa’s face as she leaned over the map between them made the shal’dorei regret her choice more and more with every passing moment. Bored and almost exasperated, the dragon drew line after line from Suramar to Nazjatar. What had taken Valtrois over centuries to learn seemed to come to Stellagosa as easy as breathing, and she acted so _nonchalant_ about it. It was exasperating! It was—

“Here,” Stellagosa touched the pad of her thumb to parchment, clawed nail clicking, “You should tell your First Arcanist to tap here.”

Valtrois followed her gaze to a spot somewhere west of the Coral Forest and her eyes narrowed, squinted, even, to trace the line’s course. “No, that cannot be right. Oculeth remembers it passing through Zin’Azshari, not northwest of the workshop. Are you sure that is what you saw?”

“I’m certain,” Stellagosa’s blue brows arched when she finally met her gaze. “I thought you would have learned by now to trust a blue dragon over a telemancer’s memory.”

“I’ll trust my own eyes when I get there and see it myself,” she shot back, as resolute as she could manage, but Stellagosa just shrugged and continued. The sky-colored waves in her hair quivered slightly when she leaned forward, but otherwise she remained entirely, infuriatingly, unshaken. 

But it was always like this when they were together: Stellagosa always managed to get under her skin in ways she hadn’t known for millennia. 

A few hours later, with the map long forgotten at the opposite end of her cabin, she finally had Stellagosa beneath her. Pressing her shoulders into the pillows, she kissed her, nipping slightly at her full lower lip. The rise and fall of bare breasts emboldened the Arcanist, and she kept touching, taking in every shiver and gasp. 

Finally, she had this arrogant dragon where she wanted her: sprawled out across her bed, sweaty and gasping in the hot Zandalari night. 

Pressing her fingers between her lips, she rolled her thumb over her clit, with all the practice and care of a _very_ experienced lover. Much like her work with the arcane, Valtrois had always been thorough, and she knew just how to satisfy. Teasing the nub in a small, steady circle, she waited until she felt her thighs twitch. Rolling forward, she kissed her ivory neck and then left a bite on the curve of her shoulder.

The dragon sighed and rocked, arching her back, and for a moment Valtrois was so sure she had won, but then a hand slipped down to cup hers and she froze, staring down into Stellagosa’s clear eyes with a questioning word on her lips.

“Not like this,” Stellagosa explained as she laced their fingers together and mimicked Valtrois’ gesture. The shal’dorei’s lips pursed closed, her voice forgotten behind teeth now clenched together. 

Stellagosa, for her part, seemed entirely unfazed. She just pried Valtrois’ thumb free and caught two of her fingers, trailing them down to her wetness below and then back to either side of her clit. She gasped a bit louder than necessary, a sound that hung pointedly in the air.

“Your way was fine,” the dragon offered the barest hint of a smile, but Valtrois remained frozen, incredulous. If Stellagosa noticed, however, she didn’t let it show. 

“Your way was fine, but this way is better. Here, let me show you.” 

Frowning and all but shaking with rage, Valtrois watched. The blue dragon gasped and threw back her head, and when their eyes met again across her bare chest Valtrois knew she had done it on purpose.


	7. Oviposition (Wrathion/Anduin)

Wrathion felt almost as flustered at the idea of pressing the eggs into his partner as he had when he pushed them out. It was hard for him to look at the leathery pile between Anduin’s legs at first, and when he did, he found the pointed tips of his ears growing hot and his fingers quivering slightly as he reached out and tried to take one. 

That unfamiliar sensation, the way they had stretched his cloaca and pressed against him so nicely still lingered fresh in his mind. Soon Anduin, too, would be full, and that thought alone sent a jolt between Wrathion’s legs and a shy smile to his lips. He had to keep cool, he reminded himself. Mustering a confident look, he scooped up the egg and held it where he knew his sprawled boyfriend could see. 

“You’re quite sure about this, my dear?” He inquired, his free hand straying to Anduin’s leg as he spoke. He trailed the tip of his nail from his knee to the top of his thigh, watching, with a sharp intake of breath, as the human’s cock twitched in front of him. Whether it was his touch or the promise of what was to come, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was he loved the way Anduin blushed when he lifted his head to face him. 

“Yes, Wrathion, please,” he whispered, before quickly averting his gaze. Beneath Wrathion’s touch he tensed slightly, but only, Wrathion soon discovered, to spread his legs. The dragon waited, letting him open himself, before tucking a pillow under his hips. 

A few moments passed before Anduin finally admitted in a short, labored murmur, “Please. I just want to know what it’s like.”

“Yes," Wrathion nodded with a small sigh of relief, "Yes, of course, my dear. I assure you it will be well worth this effort.” 

"I know, just, please. Light, Wrathion..."

With that, Wrathion’s heart started to race as nerves yielded to excitement. He opened a bottle of oil with his free hand and dripped it onto the egg. Before the lubricant’s beads could trail down the side, he smeared them, coating it until it was wetter than it had been when it left his own body. After all, he had pushed it out as a drake; Anduin would be tighter, no matter how much he had tried to prepare. 

Finally, satisfied, he leaned down and nudged it between the human’s cheeks. He was careful at first, but when Anduin gasped and moaned his name under his breath he hurried and popped it in. 

The second egg went in easier, but the third became more of a struggle, if only because the king was already so full. Anduin’s squirming, moreover, was doing absolutely nothing to help. Wrathion tried to hold down his legs but only managed to get him sticky with lube. His nails dug into his skin, but whatever he did it just seemed to make Anduin’s back arch up even more. The king's cock throbbed and leaked in front of him, and Wrathion wanted nothing more to wrap his lips around it and give him release. But he persisted, and finally, after a few moments that seemed to stretch on for hours, he managed to get the last egg inside.

Anduin’s head hit the pillow and he whimpered. Unable to help himself, Wrathion slid his wet palm up the human’s swollen abdomen. 

Though he knew the eggs weren't fertilized, there was something about seeing Anduin full of him, gasping and pleading beneath him, that made Wrathion ache with need. Leaning down, he flicked the tip of his tongue over Anduin’s shaft. The king cried, and he swallowed him, palms resting on either side of his swollen belly and crimson eyes ablaze with desire.


	8. Oviposition (Lor'themar/Mindbreaker/Naga)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big dubcon warning on this one.

Lor’themar’s scouting party came to a halt, and soon he was bathed in darkness. What had been a routine trip down to check on a Nightborne in the Deepcoil Hatchery now took a sharp turn, as cold and twisting as the waterfall-shrouded path he had used to come here. One moment he was pointing out footprints in the dirt, and the next he was gasping, swallowing what felt like a mouthful of ice, then tripping back into an abyss.

He hit the dirt below. Nearby, one of his escorts let out a strangled gasp of his own, and then there was silence.

That is until a voice, a soft whisper of a voice, came to invade his thoughts. “Oh, an elf. A white-haired elf. The perfect host for our purposes.” 

“Unhand me,” he tried to insist, resorting to thinking back his response when he realized he couldn’t move his lips. He wasn’t sure for a moment if it had worked, but then he heard a simper. 

“Oh? And with some fight in you, no less. Oh, Lor’themar Theron, Lord Regent of Silvermoon, I’m glad I have chosen so well.”

The realization that this _thing_ was reading him with its wandering tentacles and thick, throbbing head latched over his face left his stomach twisting in knots. Refusing to yield, however, he reached down and pushed his nails in the sand. Another laugh filled his thoughts, and then he felt a scaled tail brush over his knuckles.

And then his hand moved on its own. Before he could stop it, it had dropped down between his legs and unlatched the buckles of his armor. It pushed his pants down his hips and yanked his tabard to the side. No matter how hard he pleaded with it, it had taken on a life of its own.

Soon he felt scales sliding between his thighs. A naga’s thick body slivered in close and then grabbed him and flipped him over. By the time his covered head hit the sand he was shaking, quivering, even, at the feeling of being exposed. A sigh rose unbidden to his lips, but it couldn’t escape the mindbreaker that held them closed. Lor’themar couldn’t help but feel slightly grateful, until the monster around him giggled and he realized that everything—his body, his thoughts—had been laid bare.

Digging his claws into the sin’dorei’s hips, the naga spread him, then pressed something thick and wet against his opening. Lor’themar scratched a line in the sand and cried out into the abyss, “Agh!”

With another soft laugh, the mindbreaker slid its tentacles across his chest before tickling under his chin. “Good, good,” it murmured. “Now, stay still.”

Lor’themar nodded. How could he not? In this emptiness, his soldiers felt miles away, and when the naga’s thick shaft pressed into him, he felt a jolt, blood rushing between his legs and cock twitching, begging, even, for contact. His thighs trembled, and, alone in the dark, his eyes squeezed closed.

Then he felt it. What he at first assumed was some kind of flaring swelled deep inside him, and then broke free, settling with another jolt against his prostate. Another sphere soon joined it, and then another, until the eggs, squirming and thick with void, pooled together.

A shiver crawled up his spine, but between his legs his cock leaked onto the sand. He dug his nails into the ground and gasped through the shadows, knowing only the soft laughter in his mind and desperation that coiled and begged for release.


	9. Dom/sub (Jaina/Thrall)

“Ah, Jaina,” Thrall looked up into the mage’s eyes with a shy smile, though it quickly faded from his face when he realized his error. Heat rose to his cheeks, and in a hasty attempt to correct himself he shook his head, braids swaying, eyes slightly downcast. 

“Lady Proudmoore,” he tried again, and this time her pursed lips parted in soft approval. The next thing he knew, her nail was on his cheek, tracing the curve of his jaw and flicking the hair on his chin. Swallowing, he forced himself to breathe. Down between the arcane shackles binding his wrists together he felt his cock twitch.

Something between shame and need sent the blood racing to his ears. He almost didn’t hear the human changing positions until she was kneeling in front of him and tipping his head up to look at her. The glance they shared was long and thick with emotion—desire, need, reconciliation—too much for him to even put into words. Not that he'd try to explain, of course. It was his time to be silent, and he knew his place.

“Yes, Thrall?” She murmured. There was a certain gentleness in the way she said it, but there was also something else…something new. Authority. It made Thrall’s knees feel weak, and he was even more thankful to be on the ground. 

“Do you want something from me? Tell me, and make sure to say please.”

“Ah-” Biting his lower lip, he fought through a hitch in his breath. The sorceress must’ve noticed, because she stretched out her fingers towards his shackles and summoned a surge of energy. At first, he thought she was going to remove them, but instead she tightened their grip, making them hum and quiver against his skin. 

He raised his brows. She just leaned forward, bringing the violet glow on her fingers to rest against the bulge in his pants. “Is this what you want?” She murmured, before squeezing a bit too firmly. This time, Thrall couldn’t hold back his gasp. He threw back his head and moaned, nerves alight and cock throbbing up into Jaina’s palm. 

“Y-yes,” he managed, after much hesitation. Choking back another whine, he added, almost sheepishly, “Yes, Lady Proudmoore.”

“What was that, Thrall? Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I—” His heart pounded in his head and his face was hot with shame. Letting Jaina handle him like this felt so right, and he wasn’t sure what he preferred: her punishing grip or the satisfaction he found in submission. Finally, and with much hesitation, he settled on the latter. He wasn’t sure his body could handle her hold much longer. 

“I want you to touch me, please. Please, Lady Proudmoore. Please wrap your fingers around me…”

Hearing his voice—weak and choked as it was—made his stomach clench into knots. Luckily, his mistress didn’t leave him with his embarrassment, however, instead cutting in with a laugh under her breath. 

“Yes, Thrall. Your time will come. But first, I need you to do something for me.”


	10. Daddy (Saurfang/Thrall)

Varok felt Thrall’s thighs tense against his when he reached down and spread his cheeks. Trailing a finger down to his hole and pressing against it, he smiled. Beneath him, Thrall let out a sharp exhale. 

“Daddy,” he murmured, his voice muffled in the furs bunched around his face. But Varok heard: that name, the one that sent heat creeping up the back of his neck and made his heart pound in his chest. He nodded. His braids swayed against his chest, and then, slowly, he started to ease him open.

“Good,” he gave the younger orc’s ass an approving rub. Despite Thrall’s embarrassment, he was met with surprisingly little resistance. His opening stretched to accommodate him, tight around his finger, but not too tight to push inside. Soon he had taken him up to the knuckle, which brought a smile to Varok’s lips. Curling his finger slightly, he traced it along Thrall’s inner wall before sliding it back halfway out. 

Beneath him, the younger orc shuddered and balled up the corner of his pelt in his fist. 

“Good,” Varok growled, his own cock throbbing and pressing against his pants’ leather laces. He rolled his hips forward slightly, just enough to find friction against the back of Thrall’s leg.   
Upon feeling the pressure, Thrall gasped, and let out another short—and equally desperate—plea. “Daddy, please.”

“Please?” Varok let his gaze stray to Thrall's back. And as if Thrall could feel his eyes watching and wanted to give him a better view, he spread his legs more, hesitating for a moment before arching his back and exposing himself completely. Varok had to reach his free hand down between their bodies to adjust the bulge in his pants, squeezing it, and then fumbling to undo his lacings and bring himself some relief.

When he leaned forward again, it was with his cock exposed, and he rubbed it through the hair between the shaman’s cheeks. Thrall moaned. He wet his hand and gave his shaft a few desperate pumps, and then grasping himself he rocked forward, pressing his head through the tight ring of muscle, throwing back his head, and gasping into the Durotar night. 

“Good—” Sinking into the shaman’s heat, he leaned down, fingers digging into either side of his hips. He felt Thrall shudder and tense around him, but after a few labored breaths he yielded. Saurfang filled him to the hilt. 

With that, the warrior stilled and dipped down, pressing his chest against the younger orc’s back. Nipping Thrall’s neck, he sighed. One hand remained on Thrall’s side while the other reached down to touch his clenched hand. 

“Good boy,” he moaned, nuzzling Thrall’s ear with his tusk. With their fingers now laced together, he gave the younger orc a tight squeeze. After a few careful thrusts, he sighed again, and added in a voice he made sure that no one but Thrall could hear.

“You take your Daddy so well.”


	11. Aftercare (Varian/Garrosh)

Garrosh sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Varian to lift his head from the pillow. Sprawled out and legs spread, he lay frozen with the orc’s cum leaking onto his silk duvet and his face shrouded in messy brown hair. The only sign he was still conscious was the occasional moan that managed to escape his lips. 

Crossing his arms, Garrosh tried to be patient. He only lasted a few moments, however, before his urge to take a jab at his partner won out. He flashed a toothy grin he knew the man couldn’t see, and then reached out to shake his arm.

“Guess my cock was too much for you, huh, Wrynn? Didn’t know the High King of the Alliance wore out so easily.”

He expected some kind of quip in response; what he earned, instead, was a moan, muffled and a bit choked. The realization that _something actually might be wrong_ sank like a weight in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward and pushed the human’s tangled hair to the side to try to catch a glimpse of his face. 

“Hey, Wrynn?” He tried again. Smugness yielded to half-concealed concern. “You aren’t dying, right?”

“No, I’m not dying, Garrosh. Don’t flatter yourself,” he heard the other man snap, but his usual edge was gone. Instead he sounded ragged, embarrassed, overcome enough that Garrosh could slide a finger through his long hair without earning so much as a flinch. And so, that’s what he did. Smoothing out a knot he discovered and then going on to tuck the strands behind his ear, he watched and waited for some kind of explanation.

Finally, after a few silent moments, Varian spoke again. “I’m just…it was a lot,” he admitted. “I had never, you know...”

“I could tell,” Garrosh shot back with a grin. He couldn’t help himself, not with Varian sprawled out before him like this. Now that he knew he wasn’t injured, Garrosh saw no need to stay his remarks. That was, until he caught Varian squirming deeper into the mattress, fingers balling up the sheets beneath him and face so desperate to disappear into the down.

The king…was embarrassed, so embarrassed, and vulnerable. Even Garrosh couldn’t find it in himself to keep sneering.

So instead, he fell silent, once again smoothing out his messy hair before sliding his fingers down to his neck. He found the latch that held Varian’s collar in place and released it, letting each end fall with a hollow ‘thd’ to either side of his face. He traced the pad of his thumb over his skin where the leather strap had previously bound him, and then moved down to touch his shoulder. Losing himself in the heat and sweat of the other man’s skin, he forgot not to be _too_ gentle or to keep his teeth clenched into a grimace when he felt the king moan beneath him. 

After several moments, Varian pushed himself up to stare in Garrosh’s eyes. It wasn’t until he saw his blush, however, that he realized he had been rubbing his back.


End file.
